


Deja Entendu

by roliver4



Series: The Skate Park Chronicles [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Budding Love, Clexa, F/F, Foster Care, Orphans, Punk high schoolers, Skater Lexa, Slow Burn, little babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roliver4/pseuds/roliver4
Summary: private school outcast Clarke Griffin is falling super hard for social renegade Lexa fucking Forrester who is slowly learning to let down her walls. We finally learn a little more about Lexa's backstory and her relationship with Aden.





	Deja Entendu

**Author's Note:**

> random prompt from tumblr: "go over to your bookcase and pick a random book. Pick a random page and read a random sentence and write with that"
> 
> First time writing in literally months. Hope it's not too rusty.
> 
> Written to DEJA ENTENDU by Brand New.
> 
> add me on tumblr. I blog things clexa, fall, and cats! ROLIVER901.tumblr.com
> 
> i follow back!

“Then we went down to the orphanage,” Lexa’s voice cracked as she spoke into the empty darkness around us, her thumb tracing the veins that grew like trees through my arms, a constant reminder that I’m alive—pumping blood to the heart that beat only for her.

Shit, when did I become this fucking sappy?

When did I fall so hard?

When did she become a song?

I mean, the thunder that her fingertips created in the storms inside of me almost drown out her words as she continued to tell me of her past.

Nia and her father were young—“too young,” as Lexa said. I didn’t know that was a thing…. But then again, my parents were adults… established… well-to-do. Lexa’s were children, or at least that’s how she made them seem.

“I mean, when my grandparents died, that sort of left us with nothing. Nia was no where to be found. Dad had been gone for years.” The sigh that exited her chest shuddered through her teeth, the pain of her past rattling through every rib and between every molecule of air that exited her lungs. “I was 7. He was 5. It didn’t take long for the system to split us up. He went to live with some jack-ass family on the outskirts of town and I bounced from home to home, causing trouble wherever I went.”

“Why?” I asked, turning my head on the cold ground below. I could feel every rock below me dig into my skull, punishing me for my stupid question.

Why what, Clarke Griffin?

Why did she cause trouble?

Why was she moved?

You have no fucking clue what she’s talking about! You don’t understand anything about this life! You’re not made to be here! You don’t belong here! You belong in the world of piano lessons and ice skating—not skate parks and punk rock concerts! You belong in Wagner, Brahms, and Shostakovich—not Brand New, Sum41, and Yellowcard. You couldn’t even fake this life if you wanted to!

The chuckle that left her shoulders shaking left my hands trembling in her grasp. Great…. Now she’s laughing at me too.

“It was always for him,” she said with a slight smile, her eyes and face still fixated on the stars above as if she was searching for something in the field of darkness, lightyears away…

As if she was searching for him.

And Jesus Christ if she wasn’t absolutely gorgeous!

I mean, things have changed recently. The raccoon commander that I met two months ago was now donning a more natural look, her eyeliner a little less vivid and her ripped up t-shirts traded for tank-tops and button downs. It’s not like she was a different person. I mean, maybe it was the fact that it’s the middle of the night in the summer. Maybe it’s the fact that she turned 17 and she’s a “grown up” now.

Or maybe it’s that she’s comfortable….

I mean, is it possible that this goddess of a human being is finally opening up to me?

Is it possible that she’s lowering her walls?

I couldn’t help the smile that spread like a disease across my face—she had that effect on me. And it was obvious… and awkward…

Especially when Lexa turned her face towards mine, her nose just centimeters away from mine. I could feel her breath on my lips as she spoke, the words filling the small void between us, closing the distance like I craved for her lips to do. “I figured that if I caused enough trouble, they’d send me back… and maybe… hopefully he’d be there too.”

Swallowing deeply, my eyes flickered between her blood red lips, the Hell that draws me in, and her washed out green eyes, the Eden that saves me when I feel like I’m drowning. “And then what happened?” I asked of her, choking back my desire to reach over and hold her. I was fighting my desire to wrap her in my arms and apologize for everything. I was fighting my desire to tell her that she’d never have to hurt again. I was fighting my desire to make promises that no 16-year old could keep. Hell, I almost couldn’t remember what we were talking about until she turned away, returning her gaze to the broken window above us.

She licked her lips slightly, biting her lower lip before puffing it back out again. Her grip tightened around my fingers as I felt her pulse skip a beat through her hand. Shifting my stare back to the ceiling, I closed my eyes and just listened to the cadence of her existence—each breath keeping a steady tempo against the beating of her heart. For a moment, I swear that everything around us was composed by the heavens above. It’s as if the universe was writing a symphony only for us. But this wasn’t like one of those happy classical pieces that plays in the background of some app that makes rainy noises and helps you sleep. This wasn’t the kind of symphony that you’d pay money to go to and expect to feel joy afterwards. This was a deep cello line in Adagio in D minor coursing through my every limb. This was the Hans Zimmer soundtrack on repeat in the back of my head. This was Mozart’s Requiem Mass playing itself in its entirety through the stars and the night sky. This was every sound of the wind through our broken windows and the echoes of cars in the distance, each one with its own driver and their own story and none of them even slowing to recognize the role they play in Elgar’s Larghetto on this warehouse floor.

Taking a deep breath, I felt the crescendo build in my stomach and rise with my chest as Lexa spoke the resolve that I had been waiting for.

“She returned.” I could practically hear the breaking of her heart from the inch between us. “Mom came back. She was sober, and she wanted to be a mom…” Her words trailed as I felt the small shrug of her shoulders beside me. “I guess,” she added with a small sigh. “Or she wanted her inheritance…” For a moment, the silence around us built with a flourish of strings and settled on the tip of her tongue as she spoke the words, “but she couldn’t handle what he had experienced after we left the orphanage, and she sent him away to a camp.”

And the darkness returned as my breathing staccatoed with the words racing through my head—plot holes trying to be filled with any scenario possible.

“And he never came back,” she resolved with one final exhale, turning her head towards mine again. I could feel the burn of her eyes against my skin. Even in the darkness, I knew that she could see the track marks that my tears were leaving down my cheeks as they raced to not be seen. Swallowing deeply, I shifted my body and rolled onto my side to face her, pulling her hand close to my chest so she could feel my heart beat. So she could hear me say ‘I hear you. I see you. You are valid.’ Her grip shifted as she rolled onto her side as well, drawing her body closer to mine and tangling her feet into mine. With her ripped jeans wrapped around my skin-tight denim, I watched as the commander of the TriKru clan shed her hardened exterior, leaving it behind her as she shifted her weight towards her shoulder on the blanket separating us from the gravel below—the glass and rocks the natural décor of our POLIS warehouse. With her hand pulled close and her forehead against mine, I watched as Lexa cried through the breaths that trembled from her lungs, each shake and each quiver the result of one trauma, one letdown, one disappointment after another. “She sent him to some facility and told me that it was camp and for years I thought he was gone. I thought he didn’t want to come home.”

I was left speechless, and that was probably for the best. Sitting in silence seemed natural. Sitting in silence seemed cathartic. Sitting in silenced seemed to be exactly what Lexa needed. Sitting in silence surrounded by only the air between us, and the concrete below us, and the love and sadness and bliss and sorrow and resiliency and heartbreak and hope inside us. It all sort of made sense. When nothing else made sense, this did.

When nothing else made sense, she did.

When Lexa moved her hand to wipe the tears and dust from her face, my hand instantly felt the cold.

That’s what life had become without her--- cold, confusing, dark.

She snorted a small, forced laugh, sitting up to run the end of her sleeve across her nose and eyes, making some half-assed apology and attempting to crack a joke about how the others would never believe me if I told them that I saw her cry…

But I wasn’t buying it.

I wasn’t going to let her get away from me yet.

Sitting up with her, I wrapped my arms and legs around her, pulling her in tighter to completely engulf her. I wanted to her feel the safety I felt when she held me. “I love you,” I spoke softly into her ear, the words leaving my lips for the first time. With the breath in her lungs, Lexa attempted to argue, a stutter and a stumble of words filling the space around us.

But I wasn’t buying it.

I wasn’t going to let her get away from me yet.

“Stop,” I spoke firmly, mustering the strongest voice that I could as I cupped the brunette’s tear-streaked, damp cheek with my left hand. “I’m not leaving,” I began, catching her eyes with mine, her sage and olive irises jumping between each of mine. “I’m not walking out on you. I’m not coming back for an inheritance. I’m not giving you up. I’m not giving up on you. And I’m not giving up on Aden.” Swallowing deeply, I added in my final piece, reaffirming myself and supplying my perfect closing argument with the repetition of those three words, “I love you.”

For a brief moment, I felt like she could break me with her breath. All it would take is one deep breath and I would be shattered on the ground below, blending in with the gravel and glass that accented the spray painted concrete floors of our treehouse on the ground. For a brief moment, I felt unshakeable. I was a god. I was Achelois, moon goddess who could wash away pain. I was Atropos, controlling the thread between life and death.

And then she spoke…

“Petrichor,” she spoke softly, lifting her hand to mine. She closed her eyes, pressing my hand more firmly against her cheek as she turned into it. And just like that, I melted.

“The smell of rain?” I asked, tugging gently at the corner of the fabric of her button down that was resting on my knees with the one hand not attached to her. I tugged her closer, feeling as if there was no way that she could possibly be closer but craving to close the distance between our atoms.

The smile that cocked out of the corner of her mouth fired chills like bullets through my body. Her voice glided over the goosebumps that lined my skin, each inch of me begging to be hers. “Petra is stone and Ichor is the fluid that fills the veins of the Greek gods. You’re the smell before rain.” She opened her eyes to look up at me and I couldn’t help but smile back as I gripped the back of her neck and pulled her forehead towards mine.

“You’re the blood in my veins,” I finished the lyrics with a small grin. It didn’t matter to me that the song was sad or that they lyrics broke my heart or that she just compared me to the worst kind of breakup imaginable. Nothing else mattered except her one hand on my waist and the other on the side of my neck. Nothing else mattered except for her breath that lingered dangerously close to my lips. Nothing else mattered.

Because I was lost in her grasp, and for the first time ever, I was praying to never be found.

And when I heard that faint whisper against my lips, I knew that I was done for. I knew that there was no turning back. And when I heard that faint whisper against my lips, I knew that I couldn’t live without her.

“I love you, too.”

She was the blood in my veins.


End file.
